wrung his hands at me and moaned, “Sweetheart, don’t you see? If I have to pay that kind of protection, I’ll have to close.”
I looked at him and shrugged. “If this’ll kill Grandma, then Grandma must die.”
He paused for a second, then waved his hand at me. “What, I’m supposed to be scared by a little broad five feet two, eyes of blue?”
“Smarten up,” I said, hand out. “You know it’s not me talking to you now. I think you know who’s talking.”
When I walked out of the office, envelope in hand, Amos Mackey was right there, you couldn’t miss the teal green suit and the inch of canary yellow fluttering from his breast pocket. He’d been making a phone call in the stand-up booth. He glanced over at me and hung up the phone.
“You’re Gloria’s, right?”
I didn’t say anything, just finished tucking the envelope in my purse.
“I like it,” he said, nodding, the ghost of his smile there. “I like it.”
That was it. My only dealing with Mr. Amos Mackey to date. It was something, but not enough to get a sit-down with the man over a bridge jumper with a vig you could choke on.
Then I thought if I could put Vic wise to a fast-money operation, maybe there’d be a shot. Maybe the furrier …
So I headed over to the Ascot to see if I could get a line on her, see if she was going to be around that night. Walking through the lobby, I went by the Ladies’ Boutique first. That was when I noticed a red squirrel stole in the window with a placard that read Furs by Fiona. I ducked inside and asked the tall blonde at the counter about it.
“What’s with Furs by Fiona? I thought Regina had the works.”
The blonde shook her head. “Regina won’t be peddling her
buckskins anytime soon.”
“What gives?”
“Didn’t you hear?” She looked at me, eyebrows raised into perfect
half-moons.
“Hear what?”
Lips glistening, she leaned forward eagerly. “Depends on who you
talk to, but she’s pulled an Amelia Earhart.”
“Yeah?” I was surprised. So she got her cut and skipped out while the getting was good.
“Some say she got into some trouble and took a powder. Others
say, if so, why is her apartment still full of clothes and things.”
“Who says that? How do they know what’s in her apartment?”
The blonde shrugged, leaning back. “Some people were looking, I
guess.” “Looking for what, honey?” I said, squinting at her. What kind of
game was she running?
“How should I know,” she said, retreating. “I hear things.”
I nodded. Seemed Regina was involved in more setups than she could handle. A real player, that one. You had to admire it. If she’d gotten out still standing.
I went upstairs to the casino. It was too early for any real customers, but I thought maybe if I poked around, careful-like, I might get the word on Amos Mackey and how rough he played. As long as I didn’t mention Vic’s name, there was no tying him to me.
The closest I got was a whisper from Stitch, one of the stickmen. He was setting up for the night with that kind of orderliness you always see in those guys, the good ones.
“Yeah, Mackey’s a player. You don’t need me to tell you that.”
“So not someone you want to be racking up vig on?”
He looked down at his chips, smoothing them with his smoke-yellowed hand. “No, my dear, you do not.”
“Meaning?”
He looked up at me, eyes hard and clear. “Go ask the folks buried under three feet of concrete in the wine cellar of Amos’s Italian Grotto.”
“I’m guessing they aren’t talking.”
He grinned mirthlessly. “No, but I guess you could ask Manny, who
runs stick over at the Tattle Lounge.”
“The guy with the eyepatch?”
“He got lucky. His wife cashed in some bonds for him before the
other eye went pop.”
The warning bells were ringing from all corners. But as loud as they were, I couldn’t do anything about them. Even if I could figure an angle on how to help Vic, it would mean shining a light
I looked at him and shrugged. “If this’ll kill Grandma, then Grandma must die.”
He paused for a second, then waved his hand at me. “What, I’m supposed to be scared by a little broad five feet two, eyes of blue?”
“Smarten up,” I said, hand out. “You know it’s not me talking to you now. I think you know who’s talking.”
When I walked out of the office, envelope in hand, Amos Mackey was right there, you couldn’t miss the teal green suit and the inch of canary yellow fluttering from his breast pocket. He’d been making a phone call in the stand-up booth. He glanced over at me and hung up the phone.
“You’re Gloria’s, right?”
I didn’t say anything, just finished tucking the envelope in my purse.
“I like it,” he said, nodding, the ghost of his smile there. “I like it.”
That was it. My only dealing with Mr. Amos Mackey to date. It was something, but not enough to get a sit-down with the man over a bridge jumper with a vig you could choke on.
Then I thought if I could put Vic wise to a fast-money operation, maybe there’d be a shot. Maybe the furrier …
So I headed over to the Ascot to see if I could get a line on her, see if she was going to be around that night. Walking through the lobby, I went by the Ladies’ Boutique first. That was when I noticed a red squirrel stole in the window with a placard that read Furs by Fiona. I ducked inside and asked the tall blonde at the counter about it.
“What’s with Furs by Fiona? I thought Regina had the works.”
The blonde shook her head. “Regina won’t be peddling her
buckskins anytime soon.”
“What gives?”
“Didn’t you hear?” She looked at me, eyebrows raised into perfect
half-moons.
“Hear what?”
Lips glistening, she leaned forward eagerly. “Depends on who you
talk to, but she’s pulled an Amelia Earhart.”
“Yeah?” I was surprised. So she got her cut and skipped out while the getting was good.
“Some say she got into some trouble and took a powder. Others
say, if so, why is her apartment still full of clothes and things.”
“Who says that? How do they know what’s in her apartment?”
The blonde shrugged, leaning back. “Some people were looking, I
guess.” “Looking for what, honey?” I said, squinting at her. What kind of
game was she running?
“How should I know,” she said, retreating. “I hear things.”
I nodded. Seemed Regina was involved in more setups than she could handle. A real player, that one. You had to admire it. If she’d gotten out still standing.
I went upstairs to the casino. It was too early for any real customers, but I thought maybe if I poked around, careful-like, I might get the word on Amos Mackey and how rough he played. As long as I didn’t mention Vic’s name, there was no tying him to me.
The closest I got was a whisper from Stitch, one of the stickmen. He was setting up for the night with that kind of orderliness you always see in those guys, the good ones.
“Yeah, Mackey’s a player. You don’t need me to tell you that.”
“So not someone you want to be racking up vig on?”
He looked down at his chips, smoothing them with his smoke-yellowed hand. “No, my dear, you do not.”
“Meaning?”
He looked up at me, eyes hard and clear. “Go ask the folks buried under three feet of concrete in the wine cellar of Amos’s Italian Grotto.”
“I’m guessing they aren’t talking.”
He grinned mirthlessly. “No, but I guess you could ask Manny, who
runs stick over at the Tattle Lounge.”
“The guy with the eyepatch?”
“He got lucky. His wife cashed in some bonds for him before the
other eye went pop.”
The warning bells were ringing from all corners. But as loud as they were, I couldn’t do anything about them. Even if I could figure an angle on how to help Vic, it would mean shining a light
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